Thy GLEANINGS, gentle Pratt! impartAn equal transport to my heart!Yield all that can amuse the mind,And make us taste of joys refin'd;Such as the feeling heart must know,When bounty dries the springs of woe!Thy well-glean'd pages are a hoardThat days of nurture will afford,To want, to misery, and pain—Exhaustless source of mental gain!

FRIEND OF MY YOUTH! when erst we stroveTo sport in MILLER'S myrtle grove;When each, with emulation big,Aspir'd to gain the envied sprig;Thou 'mongst the Muses still has sported;Oft' courting them — as often courted;Whilst I — a drudge to plodding care,But seldom to their haunts repair;For when I press'd, with youthful joy,I thought I found them somewhat coy;Nor with my presence much delighted,Slighted by them — in turn I slighted.Then giving up each rhyming maid,I 'su'd that sober matron — TRADE,And, hopeless of their smiles of pity,Sought civic honours from the city.